Fire in the Steppe (69 page)

The Turks were digging approaches, however, making intrenchments and fixing heavy guns in them. But before they began to fire from these guns, an envoy of the Turks came under the walls, and fastening to a dart a letter from the Sultan, showed it to the besieged. Dragoons were sent out; these brought the envoy at once to the castle. The Sultan, summoning the town to surrender, exalted his own might and clemency to the skies.

They considered long what response to give to that letter, and rejected the impolitic counsel of Zagloba to cut off a dog's tail and send it in answer. They despatched a clever man skilled in Turkish; Yuritsa was his name. He bore a letter which read as follows:—

After this answer the officers went to their places on the walls. Bishop Lantskoronski and the starosta took advantage of this, and sent a new letter to the Sultan, asking of him an armistice for four weeks. When news of this went along the gates, an uproar and clatter of sabres began. "But I believe," repeated this man and that, "that we are here burning at the guns, and behind our shoulders they are sending letters without our knowledge, though we are members of the council." At the evening kindya the officers went in a body to the starosta, with the little knight and Pan Makovetski at their head, both greatly afflicted at what had happened.

"How is this?" asked Makovetski. "Are you thinking already of surrender, that you have sent a new envoy? Why has this happened without our knowledge?"

"In truth," added the little knight, "since we are called to a council, it is not right to send letters without our knowledge. Neither will we permit any one to mention surrender; if any one wishes to mention it, let him withdraw from authority."

While speaking he was terribly roused; being a soldier of rare obedience, it caused him the utmost pain to speak thus against his superiors. But since he had sworn to defend the castle till his death he thought, "It behooves me to speak thus."

The starosta was confused and answered, "I thought this was done with general consent."

"There is no consent. We will die here!" cried a number of voices.

"I am glad to hear that," said the starosta; "for in me faith is dearer than life, and cowardice has never come near me, and will not. Remain, gracious gentlemen, to supper; we will come to agreement more easily."

But they would not remain.

"Our place is at the gates, not at the table," said the little knight.

At this time the bishop arrived, and learning what the question was, turned at once to Pan Makovetski and Volodyovski.

"Worthy men!" said he, "each has the same thing at heart as you, and no one has mentioned surrender. I sent to ask for an armistice of four weeks; I wrote as follows; 'During that time we will send to our king for succor, and await his instructions, and further that will be which God gives.'"

When the little knight heard this he was excited anew, but this time because rage carried him away, and scorn at such a conception of military matters. He, a soldier since childhood, could not believe his ears, could not believe that any man would propose a truce to an enemy, so as to have time himself to send for succor.

The little knight looked at Makovetski and then at other officers; they looked at him. "Is this a jest?" asked a number of voices. Then all were silent.

"I fought through the Tartar, Cossack, Moscow, and Swedish wars," said Pan Michael, at last, "and I have never heard of such reasons. The Sultan has not come hither to please us, but himself. How will he consent to an armistice, when we write to him that at the end of that time we expect aid?"

"If he does not agree, there will be nothing different from what there is now," said the bishop.

"Whoso begs for an armistice exhibits fear and weakness, and whoso looks for succor mistrusts his own power. The Pagan dog believes this of us from that letter, and thereby irreparable harm has been done."

"I might be somewhere else," said the bishop; "and because I did not desert my flock in time of need, I endure reprimand."

The little knight was sorry at once for the worthy prelate; therefore he took him by the knees, kissed his hands, and said,—

"God keep me from giving any reprimand here; but since there is a council, I utter what experience dictates to me."

"What is to be done, then? Let the fault be mine; but what is to be done? How repair the evil?" asked the bishop.

"How repair the evil?" repeated Volodyovski.

And thinking a moment, he raised his head joyously,—

"Well, it is possible. Gracious gentlemen, I pray you to follow me."

He went out, and after him the officers. A quarter of an hour later all Kamenyets was trembling from the thunder of cannon. Volodyovski rushed out with volunteers; and falling upon sleeping janissaries in the approaches, ha slashed them till he scattered and drove the whole force to the tabor.

Then he returned to the starosta, with whom he found the bishop. "Here," said he, joyously,—"here is help for you."

After that sortie the night was passed in desultory firing; at daylight it was announced that a number of Turks were standing near the castle, waiting till men were sent out to negotiate. Happen what might, it was needful to know what they wanted; therefore Pan Makovetski and Pan Myslishevski were appointed at the council to go out to the Pagans.

A little later Pan Kazimir Humyetski joined them, and they went forth. There were three Turks,—Muhtar Bey, Salomi, the pasha of Rushchuk, and the third Kozra, an interpreter. The meeting took place under the open sky outside the gate of the castle. The Turks, at sight of the envoys, began to bow, putting their finger-tips to their hearts, mouths, and foreheads; the Poles greeted them politely, asking why they had come. To this Salomi answered,—

"Dear men! a great wrong has been done to our lord, over which all who love justice must weep; and for which He who was before the ages will punish you, if you do not correct it straightway. Behold, you sent out of your own will Yuritsa, who beat with the forehead to our vizir and begged him for a cessation of arms. When we, trusting in your virtue, went out of the trenches, you began to fire at us from cannon, and rushing out from behind walls, covered the road with corpses as far as the tents of the Padishah; which proceeding cannot remain without punishment, unless you surrender at once the castles and the town, and show great regret and repentance."

To this Makovetski gave answer,—

"Yuritsa is a dog, who exceeded his instructions, for he ordered his attendant to hang out a white flag, for which he will be judged. The bishop on his own behalf inquired privately if an armistice might be arranged; but you did not cease to fire in time of sending those letters. I myself am a witness of that, for broken stones wounded me in the mouth; wherefore you have not the right to ask us to cease firing. If you come now with an armistice ready, it is well; if not, tell your lord, dear men, that we will defend the walls and the town as before, until we perish, or what is more certain, till you perish, in these rocks. We have nothing further to give you, except wishes that God may increase your days, and permit you to live to old age."

After this conversation the envoys separated straightway. The Turks returned to the vizir; Makovetski, Humyetski, and Myslishevski to the castle. They were covered with questions as to how they had sent off the envoys. They related the Turkish declaration.

"Do not receive it, dear brothers," said Kazimir Humyetski. "In brief, these dogs wish that we should give up the keys of the town before evening."

To this many voices gave answer, repeating the favorite expression,—

"That Pagan dog will not grow fat with us. We will not surrender; we will drive him away in confusion. We do not want him."

After such a decision, all separated; and firing began at once. The Turks had succeeded already in putting many heavy guns in position; and their balls, passing the "breastworks," began to fall into the town. Cannoneers in the town and the castles worked in the sweat of their foreheads the rest of the day and all night. When any one fell, there was no man to take his place, there was a lack also of men to carry balls and powder. Only before daybreak did the uproar cease somewhat. But barely was the day growing gray in the east, and the rosy gold-edged belt of dawn appearing, when in both castles the alarm was sounded. Whoso was sleeping sprang to his feet; drowsy throngs came out on the streets, listening carefully. "They are preparing for an assault," said some to others, pointing to the side of the castle. "But is Pan Volodyovski there?" asked alarmed voices. "He is, he is!" answered others.

In the castles they rang the chapel bells, and rattling of drums was beard on all sides. In the half-light, half-darkness of morning, when the town was comparatively quiet, those voices seemed mysterious and solemn. At that moment the Turks played the "kindya;" one band gave the sounds to another, and they ran in that way, like an echo, through the whole immense tabor. The Pagan swarms began to move around the tents. At the rising day the towering intrenchments, ditches, and approaches came out of the darkness, stretching in a long line at the side of the castle. The heavy Turkish guns roared at once along its whole length; the cliffs of the Smotrych roared back in thundering echo; and the noise was as awful and terrible as if all the thunders in the storehouse of heaven had flashed and shot down together, bringing with them the dome of clouds to the earth.

That was a battle of artillery. The town and the castles gave mighty answers. Soon smoke veiled the sun and the light; the Turkish works were invisible. Kamenyets was hidden; only one gray enormous cloud was to be seen, filled in the interior with lightning, with thunder and roaring. But the Turkish guns carried farther than those of the town. Soon death began to cut people down in Kamenyets. A number of cannon were dismounted. In service at the arquebuses, two or three men fell at a time. A Franciscan Father, who was blessing the guns, had his nose and part of his lip carried off by a wedge from under a cannon; two very brave Jews who assisted in working that cannon were killed.

But the Turkish guns struck mainly at the intrenchment of the town. Pan Kazimir Humyetski sat there like a salamander, in the greatest fire and smoke: one half of his company had fallen; nearly all of those who remained were wounded. He himself lost speech and hearing; but with the aid of the Polish mayor he forced the enemy's battery to silence, at least until new guns were brought to replace the old ones.

A day passed, a second, a third; and that dreadful "colloquium" of cannon did not cease for an instant. The Turks changed gunners four times a day; but in the town the very same men had to work all the time without sleep, almost without food, stifled from smoke; many were wounded from broken stones and fragments of cannon carriages. The soldiers endured; but the hearts began to weaken in the inhabitants. It was necessary at last to drive them with clubs to the cannon, where they fell thickly. Happily, in the evening of the third day and through the night following, from Thursday till Friday, the main cannonading was turned on the castles.

They were both covered, but especially the old one, with bombs from great mortars, which, however, "harmed little, since in darkness each bomb was discernible, and a man could avoid it." But toward evening, when such weariness seized men that they fell off their feet from drowsiness, they perished often enough.

The little knight, Ketling, Myslishevski, and Kvasibrotski answered the Turkish fire from the castles. The starosta looked in at them repeatedly, and advanced amid a hail of bullets, anxious, but regardless of danger.

Toward evening, however, when the fire had increased still more, Pan Pototski approached Pan Michael.

"Gracious Colonel," said he, "we shall not hold out."

"While they confine themselves to firing we shall hold out," answered the little knight; "but they will blow us out of here with mines, for they are making them."

"Are they really mining?" asked the starosta, in alarm.

"Seventy cannon are playing, and their thunder is almost unceasing; still, there are moments of quiet. When such a moment comes, put down your ear carefully and listen."

At that time it was not needful to wait long, especially as an accident came to their aid. One of the Turkish siege-guns burst; that caused a certain disorder. They sent from other intrenchments to inquire what had happened, and there was a lull in cannonading.

Pan Michael and the starosta approached the very end of one of the projections of the castle, and began to listen. After a certain time their ears caught clearly enough the resonant sound of hammers in the cliff.

"They are pounding," said the starosta.

"They are pounding," said the little knight.

Then they were silent. Great alarm appeared on the face of the starosta; he raised his hands and pressed his temples. Seeing this, Pan Michael said,—

"This is a usual thing in all sieges. At Zbaraj they were digging under us night and day."

The starosta raised his hand: "What did Prince Yeremi do?"

"He withdrew from intrenchments of wide circuit into narrower ones."

"But what should we do?"

"We should take the guns, and with them all that is movable, and transfer them to the old castle; for the old one is founded on rocks that the Turks cannot blow up with mines. I have thought always that the new castle would serve merely for the first resistance; after that we must blow it up with powder, and the real defence will begin in the old one."